


Mine Forevermore

by TooOftenObsessed



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Old Age, Old Married Couple, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-08 03:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooOftenObsessed/pseuds/TooOftenObsessed
Summary: Hermann & Newt are two happily married old men. Includes vague references to the events of Uprising.





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Hermann Gottlieb opened his eyes, pulled from a light sleep by his own unfailing internal clock. He poked his head out from beneath the comforter and squinted at his nightstand clock. It was exactly six in the morning. He always woke early, even deep into retirement, and knew it would do no good to attempt to go back to sleep. He wormed his way out from deep within the cocoon of blankets he’d gathered around himself in the night, stretching as gently as he could to ease the stiffness from his joints. 

He had to move slowly, in the morning, even more slowly than he had as a young man. The creeping frailty of his body, once only an irritant, had progressed into an omnipresent concern. But Hermann had learned early in life to be cautious of himself, and since the end of the war, he’d had little cause to exceed his limits. He climbed from bed, grabbing the cane that was always at hand. He didn’t bother to keep quiet; Newton wouldn’t wake for hours yet, unless Hermann really tried to rouse him. Any why should he? Newt had been through enough pain for several lifetimes; Hermann had decided long ago that it was his duty to see that Newt’s retirement would be spent entirely in peace and comfort.

Though it was spring, and still cool outside, the air conditioner was always switched on to compensate for Newt’s constant energy turning his body into a blast furnace. Hermann shivered and slipped on a warm bathrobe and slippers, smiling as he heard an echo of Newton’s voice mocking his “old man” clothes deep in his heart. Newt had never faltered in his abuse of Hermann’s style, despite the fact that they were both, in fact, old men. The way Hermann saw it, he’d always dressed quite practically, and if Newton chose to dress like a teenager while well into his seventies, that was his prerogative. 

Hermann shuffled to the front door and retrieved the newspaper from the front step. Newt made fun of him for subscribing to something as archaic as a printed paper, but the tactile stimulation of putting a pen to paper was just as important as the mental stimulation of the crossword puzzle itself. He tucked the paper under his arm, and made his way to the fridge. It would be another two hours at least before Newt was awake enough to be interested in food, so Hermann often made do with just a glass of juice or a bagel first thing. He emptied out the bottle of orange juice into a glass and added it to the shopping list on the counter. 

He paused in the doorway of their bedroom, smiling a little at the sight of his still sleeping husband.

Newton Geiszler lay sprawled across their bed. The man was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a persistent mattress hog. They could begin the night lying comfortably side by side, each claiming no more than their fair share of the real estate, but by morning their bed was a crime scene. Newt had a tendency to shuffle sideways, stretching his legs out toward Hermann and shoving his pillow dangerously close to the edge of the bed. When they’d first moved in together, after finally escaping the necessarily cramped quarters of one Shatterdome or another, they had upgraded from a full to a queen, and finally to a king, as the full extent of the problem had made itself clear. Hermann contributed to this, of course, jealously hoarding the blankets that an overheated Newt threw off himself in sleep. 

Newt had, as usual, claimed more than three-fourths of the available bed space. His face was pressed down into his pillow, one leg hiked up to his chest, and both arms stretched above his head. He slept in no more than a pair of boxers and an oversized t-shirt, the latter of which was currently rucked up over the gentle swell of stomach that had softened and broadened with age. The band on the fourth finger of his left hand glinted in the sunlight. Even after all this time, it still gave Hermann a possessive little thrill to see it. After all they’d been through, everything they’d fought against, Newton Geiszler was  _ his _ for all the world to see. 

Hermann shook his head at his momentary lapse, and climbed back into bed, carefully settling his glass on the nightstand, leaning his cane against the wall, and propping himself up against the headboard. He fished a pen from the bedside drawer, slipped his reading glasses onto his nose, and set to work. 

During their long and painful separation, puzzles were one of the few things that kept Hermann sane when his sleep was torn apart by vivid memories of the alien hivemind. He’d thought they were memories at the time, anyway. It still sent a chill down his spine to think that the force he’d felt clawing its way into his mind wasn’t a figment of his imagination, but rather a very real danger. He’d sit up awake, lights on, filling out crosswords, Sudoku, and even the word search when the situation was dire, scratching at the newspaper until he was simply too tired for the nightmares to keep him awake. 

Now, however, the puzzles were merely a pleasant way to pass the time and keep his mind sharp. He methodically worked his way through the questions, filling out items he was sure of and placing a tick mark next to those to which he’d return. Newton snorted in his sleep, shifting around to curl toward Hermann. When his right hand found Hermann’s thigh, he let out a contented sigh, smiling slightly, and seemed to sink deeper into sleep.

While Hermann worked, finishing his orange juice and moving onto the Sudoku, Newt snuggled closer and closer, until his face was pressed up against Hermann’s side and it became all but impossible to keep writing over the top of his head. Hermann craned around to look at the bedside clock, seeing that it was well past eight in the morning, decided they had better get a start to their day. He set aside the paper and removed his glasses, reaching down to run a hand lightly through Newton’s hair. 

Newt’s hair, though no less unruly than it had been in his youth, had thinned considerably at the top before going stark white. True to form, Newt had been completely unfazed by this development, and had seized the opportunity to invest in an assortment of vivid hair dyes.. Hermann, whose hair had gone a sensible steely grey in his early fifties and changed not a whit since, wasn’t a fan of the neon colors, but thankfully a wash or two was all it took to render the dye faded to the barest hint of its former glory. 

Today, Newt’s hair was the palest of blues, just a touch of color left clinging to the strands. Hermann found himself incalculably fond of the soft pastels; he was often overtaken with an almost nauseating tenderness when the light caught it just right. So, Hermann had kept his complaining about the tubs of gluey dye that cluttered the bathroom to the bare minimum, though he wasn’t above inviting Newt to join him in the shower with the ulterior motive of speeding up the fading process. He suspected Newton knew exactly what he was up to, of course. They’d known each other too long to truly hide their motivations from one another.

Newt stirred beneath his hand, groaning softly and pressing his face harder into Hermann’s side before turning to fix one bleary eye on Hermann’s face. He smiled, closed his eyes again and sighed softly, letting Hermann comb his bangs back from his forehead. 

“Mornin’ Herms, what time is it?” 

“About quarter to nine.” Newt groaned loudly, half rolling away.

“Hermann, it’s  _ Saturday,  _ it should be illegal to wake someone this early on the weekend.” 

“Need I remind you, Newton, that we are both quite retired, and the weekend has no particular significance beyond the increased difficulty of the crossword puzzle?” Newt snorted out a laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face and yawning. 

“No unforgivable misspellings this time?” Hermann blushed, embarrassed. Several months ago, there had been a question regarding their role in the first Kaiju war, and somehow the imbeciles had managed to misspell Newton’s surname. Hermann had spent the better part of four hours on the phone, demanding they print a correction and include the “z” in Geiszler. 

“When will you let me live that down, hm?” Newt rolled back over and grinned up at Hermann, his eyes larger than they appeared with his glasses on, and shining green-gold in the morning sunlight.   


“Live it down? Hermann, you stepped up to defend my honor. It’s one of the top five hottest moments of my life! You’re my knight in shining armor.” Newt snaked a hand up behind Hermann’s head and pulled him into a decidedly provocative kiss. Hermann felt himself blush, and pulled back just enough to whisper “oh, darling” against his husband’s lips before deciding they didn’t have to get going  _ quite _ so soon after all.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly ten by the time Newt eased his way out from beneath his dozing husband’s arm, a fact of which Newt was quite proud. It was incredibly rare that he could entice Hermann to stay in bed when there were errands to run, and nigh unheard of for the man to fall back asleep. While he loved Hermann dearly, and knew he found comfort in routine, Newt felt that leaving bed early on a weekend violated some rule of nature. Of course, anytime he tried to impress this belief upon Hermann, he was met with a comfortably familiar withering stare, followed by a lecture on the quantifiable fundamental laws of the universe and how waking up late on a Saturday was decidedly _not_ one of them.

Newt couldn’t help smiling when he remembered the terseness with which Hermann always responded to Newt’s needling annoyances. Hermann was a man of contrasts. He was all stern brow and harsh lines, always buttoned up and closed off to the world. The most satisfying thing in the world, and the task to which Newt Geiszler was best suited, was drawing Hermann out of his shell. Hermann’s face took to furrows well, and as he’d grown older, Newt had secretly delighted that the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled had become permanent fixtures. The frown lines, seemingly permanent during the first war and tragically deepened during their separation, had given way to laugh lines that were visible even in sleep.

Hermann was at his softest now, his pink lips parted ever so slightly and his long lashes fanned out across his beautiful cheekbones. His grey hair curled at the temples and across his forehead, with one stubborn cowlick sticking straight up from the top of his head. Newt had insisted for years that Hermann’s ridiculously drab bowl-like undercut was somehow even _more_ out of fashion than it had been in the twenties, but Hermann saw right through Newton’s complaints. Once, when he came home from a trim without buzzing the back of his neck, Newt had very poorly hidden his disappointment.

“Trying something different there, Herm?” Hermann had blushed and touched the back of his head lightly.

  
“Well, the hairdresser suggested something a bit more modern.” Newt stood and ran his hand through the locks, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a slight pout. “You’re upset.” Newt, not wanting to be _that guy_ , had insisted, too loudly, that he wasn’t.

“No, no, it’s just weird! It’s different, y’know, just not what I'm used to. It’s definitely a little more _in_ , y’know, more _hip_ , and I guess that’s fine but maybe that’s just not how I see you? Oh god, that sounded bad, I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Hermann had shrugged off the insult and let the subject drop.

That night, however, Newt was finally able to put his finger on what was bothering him. Hermann was up reading, his stupid glasses perched right on the end of his nose. The effect wasn’t the same without that stupid Martin Luther undercut. Newt rolled over toward Hermann and put a hand on his wrist. He knew better than to just start talking while Hermann was reading, and waited the half a beat while Hermann finished a sentence and laid a finger on the page.

“What is it?” Hermann’s voice was soft, almost too kind, and Newt was struck with the feeling that he knew what Newt was going to say. Maybe he did; every so often there were these lingering moments where it felt like they’d read each other’s minds.

“Hermann, I’m sorry, it’s _your_ hair, but… it kinda reminds me of… Moyulan.”

The undercut was back the next day, and no more was said about it. At least, not with words. But Newt had been unable to contain his gratitude; constantly brushing his fingers through the short fuzz behind Hermann’s ears, running his lips across the fringe on Hermann’s forehead, and generally turning even the smallest of moment of contact into one charged with heat and love.

Hermann had spent years ensuring that each painful memory Newt was forced to carry in his heart had one of blistering happiness to match it. Every time he saw Hermann like this, unguarded and vulnerable, he had to fight against the sense that he would never deserve this man. Newton had grown comfortable with feeling inadequate, knowing it was a permanent scar from all he’d endured, and long ago resolved that the only solution was to work every day to be worthy. And of course, when Hermann woke, he’d look at Newt with eyes the color of home that said only _you are enough_.

Newt slid off the bed as slowly and quietly as possible, clenching his teeth at the squeak of a bedspring, but Hermann didn’t stir. Unable to contain his glee, Newt pumped his fist once in the air before snagging his boxers and tiptoeing out of the room and easing the door shut behind him. The kitchen clock now read 10:03, just enough time to get some breakfast together, shower, and leave to run errands before Hermann would get truly pissed.

Breakfast in the Geiszler-Gottlieb household was generally light; Hermann had no stomach for anything elaborate, and Newt had no patience. Newt survived on microwavables and cold cereal before Hermann insisted he eat something that more closely resembled what Hermann called “real food.” Coffee was a must, and every night before bed Newt had the machine set up to start brewing at the flip of a switch. Oatmeal had become a staple in the house. Newt cut up their next-to-last banana for Hermann, and put a sprinkle of cinnamon and a handful of blueberries on his own.

Newt balanced the bowls on top of the mugs - something Hermann would have shouted about had he seen it - and tiptoed back to the bedroom. He was momentarily stymied by the closed door, but managed to turn around far enough to catch the handle with his elbow and unlatch it. Hermann hadn’t moved much since Newt left, and Newt was thrilled to see him still asleep.

Hermann was still breathtaking when Newt saw him like this, lying shirtless in the patch of sunlight filtering in through the window. His left hand rested on his stomach and he had his right cast out toward Newt’s side of the bed, as if seeking his warmth. Newt set the dishes on his nightstand and lay down to curl against Hermann’s side. His nearly hairless chest rose and fell steadily beneath the intoxicating line of his collarbone, which had always been a point of fixation for Newt. The oversized dress shirts, buttoned up all the way to the top, had only ever served as a frankly brutal tease, and it was dizzying to have such unfettered access. Hermann shifted when Newt ran his fingers along his chest, his eyes opening at once.

“Newton, I’m sorry, I must have fallen back asleep.” He started to sit up. “How late is it? We’ve got to get moving, we have so much to do today.” Newt smiled.

“We’ve got time, yet. Ada said they won’t drop the kids off until like later afternoon, and it’s only about 10:20 now. Here,” he rolled to his nightstand and brought around a mug of coffee. Hermann groaned in delight as the hot mug was passed into his hands.

“Mm, breakfast in bed. Newton, you’re just marvelous sometimes.”

“Hey baby, don’t undersell it, I’m marvelous all the time.”

“You know better than to call me baby.” Hermann tried to look stern but couldn’t maintain it, instead breaking into a laugh at Newt’s posturing. He laughed so freely now, his smiles wide and uninhibited. Newt delighted in coaxing a stream of giggles from his husband, almost as much as he enjoyed goading him into an irritated rant. Hermann Gottlieb was just too much _fun_ to be with, no matter what anyone might think.

“So, what’s on the agenda?” Newt handed over Hermann’s oatmeal before starting on his own. “Groceries, mostly, there is like _no_ food in the house. Then what?” Hermann chewed thoughtfully.

“I need to get some work done in the garden, if there’s time. And I’d like to vacuum the living room before they get here, since the children will be sleeping on the floor. I do wish they’d let us unfold the sofabed for them.”

“Ah Hermann, they’re kids! You’ve gotta let them bust out the sleeping bags. It’s like camping.”

“Yes, you’ve explained it many times. I still don’t see the appeal. But they’ll get what they want, they always do; do you think we indulge them too much?” Hermann had never been confident in the degree of freedom they gave their grandchildren; Both sets of grandparents had died when he was too young to really remember them, so he had no example to draw upon.

“We’re grandpas, Hermann. This is how it’s supposed to be.” Newt rested his head on Hermann’s shoulder for a moment. Hermann turned and gave him a quick kiss before turning back to his breakfast. Newt finished his oatmeal first; he’d never gotten over the habit of eating like they were constantly racing against a doomsday clock. He downed his still-hot coffee in a few gulps and climbed back out of bed.

“Newton please don’t leave your dishes in the bedroom.” Newt darted into their attached bathroom and turned the water on.

“Sorry Hermann, can’t hear you!” He shimmied out of his boxers and waited for the water to warm up. A minute or two later, Hermann appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“Newton, you will put our dishes in the sink.” His tone of voice would brook no argument. Newt stepped over and wrapped his arms around Hermann’s middle. The man was as persistently thin as he’d ever been, and Newt’s hands met easily in the small of his back.

“I will, babe. I love you.” Hermann’s free hand came up to cup the back of Newt’s head.

“And I love you, Newton.” They held each other like that, Newt’s face pressed into Hermann’s chest, until the little bathroom was completely filled with steam.


	3. Chapter 3

Newt pushed the shopping cart - which he refused to call anything but a “trolley” ever since Hermann had slipped up just  _ once  _ \- while Hermann followed behind, keeping Newt’s heels just at the top of his vision as he perused the shopping list clutched in his left hand. Even though he had the list made out, he barely needed to think about where they were headed next. Long ago, he had devised a system for moving through the store as quickly and efficiently as possible, and he re-wrote his list accordingly before each trip. Newt sometimes mocked him for his fastidiousness, but only once, early in their marriage, had he pushed too far.

Hermann had been sitting at the kitchen table, copying over the items that they had both scrawled on the pad next to the fridge as they ran out. He made sure to categorize, itemize, and arrange the list in the order that they would encounter the sections when moving throughout the store. This was perhaps the third or fourth major shopping trip they’d embarked on since moving in together, and Newt’s frustration had finally boiled over.

“Hermann, come _on_ , this is ridiculous. It doesn’t have to be such a _project_ every time we go to the damn store. It’s not like this is some kind of optimized computer program, you don’t have to calculate maximum efficiency, I mean so what if we have to backtrack for bread or baby carrots or something?” Hermann had gritted his teeth and said nothing, hoping Newton would realize the obvious, that _of course_ it mattered if they had to backtrack; every single step mattered. “Hermann, babe, seriously, I love you, but sometimes I really don’t understand why you can’t just wing it once in a while.” Hermann slammed his pen down and shoved the list at Newt.

“Fine,” he said, grabbing his cane and standing to walk away. “You can go on ahead and  _ wing it _ without having a  _ cripple _ to slow you down.” Newt’s face had hardened at that, not the reaction Hermann was expecting, and he rapidly rounded the table to grab Hermann by both arms. 

“Why the fuck would you say a thing like that?” He shook Hermann roughly by the shoulders, but his face crumpled when Hermann met his eyes. “Oh god, Herm, I'm such an asshole, I didn't even think, you know?” Newt moved his hands from Hermann’s shoulders up to cup his cheeks, peering up with a searching, panicked gaze. Hermann sighed and looked away from those frightened, earnest eyes. 

“I know you didn't.” He breathed deeply, trying to let the anger fade from his voice. “I know you didn’t.” Newt gripped Hermann's face harder then, his breathing speeding up as his anxiety ramped up instead of winding down..

“You have to forgive me. You know I’m stupid, you know I don’t think, I just talk and talk and talk…” Hermann reached up and took Newt’s hands off his face, holding them to his chest.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, Newton.” Hermann shushed him softly, wrapping one arm around Newt’s shoulders and pulling him tight to his chest. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I know you don’t think of me like that. Take a deep breath for me, darling.” He squeezed the nape of Newt’s neck and let his fingers run through the soft hair there. 

“Okay.” Newt inhaled deeply through his nose, not too subtly pressing his lips to Hermann’s chest. 

“I’ve just been having a bad few days. I took my pain out on you, and that isn’t fair.”

“Hey,” Newton’s voice was softer, but even more serious, the tone he reserved for times in which he truly would brook no argument. “You don't get to keep that from me. You have to tell me when you're hurting, or scared, or sad. It's my  _ job _ to take care of you. Just like it's your job to take care of me. That's what we signed up for.” Newt wrapped both arms around Hermann’s slender middle and squeezed hard before letting go. Hermann kissed Newt’s forehead, then his cheek.

“I know, my love. It's just so new, having someone who wants to take care of me with no ulterior motives” Newt had let a sly smile creep across his face at that. 

“I wouldn't say I have  _ no  _ ulterior motives, Herm.” He swiftly reached down and slid a hand into Hermann's back pocket, giving him a quick squeeze and laughing at Hermann's indignant wheezing before picking up the shopping list again. 

“Hermann! Hey, you with me? What's next?” Newt snapped his fingers directly under Hermann’s nose. “Get with the picture, don’t make me think you’re going senile!” Hermann scowled and found his place on the list again. Hermann began to mutter under his breath as he tallied up the items they still needed to get.

“We need coffee, flour, cereal, rice -” but Newt suddenly cut Hermann off.

“Here, I'll be right back.” Hermann often paused to mull over choices while they were shopping, and whenever he tarried too long in one spot, Newton would vanish. He directed the handle of the cart toward Hermann and practically skipped off - at least, as much as a slightly chubby old man could be said to skip - down the aisle. He disappeared around the corner and just a few moments later, he returned bearing two little paper cups bearing tiny segments of what looked to be microwaved egg rolls. Hermann scowled. 

“Why you insist on running off for free samples of food with which you are  _ already _ intimately familiar, I'll never understand. You're like a child, it's incessant.” Newt just grinned and handed over one of the little cups. 

“Well, you’ve acted like you’re ninety since you were twenty-five. I’ve gotta do something to counteract your whole wizened professor vibe.” He gestured at Hermann’s hand. “I'll eat it if you don't want yours.” Hermann sniffed the sample suspiciously. 

“I don't suppose you stopped to check how much sodium is in this?” Newt groaned dramatically. 

“Hermann, come on, live a little.” Newton had moderately high blood pressure, nothing terribly alarming, but Hermann believed firmly in being proactive about one's health. 

“You must  _ forgive me  _ for trying to protect the health of the man I love. Truly, I am a monster.”

Newt downed his sample in one go and eyeballed Hermann's, who passed it over with a sigh. One must choose one’s battles.

When they reached the breakfast aisle, Newt made a beeline for the brightly colored boxes of sugary cereal that were obviously designed to appeal to children. He stood and perused, a hand on his chin, the very picture of thoughtful consideration.

  
“Newton, no.” Hermann had spent years trying to break Newt’s cereal habit. 

“Newton yes!” Newt grabbed a periwinkle box bearing a cartoon monster and shook it in Hermann’s face.

“Newton absolutely not. No. No. I refuse to let you purchase something called  _ Otachi-Os _ and bring it into our home.” Newt’s expression betrayed neither disappointment nor acquiescence. 

“Uh, it’s happening Hermann. Look, it turns the milk kaiju-blue!” Hermann scowled.

  
“That’s absolutely tasteless. I cannot imagine who would have allowed this to be sold.” Newt flipped the box over.

“General Mills. I bet they just repurposed Boo-Berry. Remember Boo-Berry?” Newt didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Hermann, c’mon, just this weekend. Just cuz the kids are coming. I can tell them all about Otachi!” Hermann gave him a look, and Newt held one hand out defensively. “Okay, not  _ all  _ about Otachi. Please?” Hermann sighed dramatically, and Newt grinned, knowing he’d won. 

When they’d finally progressed back through the dry goods and freezer sections, Newt had successfully managed to convince Hermann they needed animal crackers, multiple bags of candy, and ice cream for the kids. Hermann didn’t fight too hard, though; what was the point of having grandchildren if you didn’t get to spoil them? And besides, Newt had made sure to grab a bag of candied orange slices, which were Hermann’s favorite little indulgence. 

They moved slowly on their way to the registers, because Hermann hadn’t taken any pain medication that morning, since he knew he might need it to keep up with the children. When they fell into line, Hermann checked over the list one last time and finally pocketed it. Newt’s right hand slipped into Hermann’s newly free left one, their fingers interlaced and thumbs rubbing lightly against one another. Newt caught Hermann’s eye, and let a shy little smile creep across his face. 

Despite his general boisterousness, Newton had always respected Hermann’s desire to avoid gratuitous public displays of affection. His slightly embarrassed gratitude when Hermann allowed him to take his hand had been the best encouragement for Hermann to make more of these concessions, and Newt took the opportunity to crane his neck up for a kiss. Hermann gladly obliged, though he purposely lingered just long enough to make Newt’s neck turn pink. 

Embarrassing Newton Geiszler, though tricky to manage, was an art form that Hermann Gottlieb had perfected over the course of more than twenty years of marriage. It was only fair, given that the shoe had been on the other foot for the preceding twenty years of courtship. 

“Wipe that smile off your face, old man.” But Newt couldn’t keep a grin off his own, so Hermann didn’t feel a need to listen.


End file.
